


Unofficial Police

by Estirose



Category: Power Rangers Time Force, Time Trax
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estirose/pseuds/Estirose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two police officers from two different centuries get involved a case regarding drugs in the twenty-first century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unofficial Police

Unofficial Police  
by Estirose  
c 2009

These are the journals of Darien Lambert, Captain, Fugitive Retrieval Unit, 2193.

My Captain and I had settled down in the city of Silver Hills on the trail of one of our few remaining fugitives. The city, known as Enclave 2490 in our own time, was a center of technology and commerce. But it was also plagued with the appearance of a drug known as RWCD, or popularly “Rhino”, a stimulant with undesirable side effects, a drug that should have made its first appearance in the mid-21st century. My Captain had traced the appearance of the drug to this city, and we traveled there to find the perpetrator.

From my database, my Captain and I determined that the fugitive in question was Dr. Linndasa Wildski, a biologist and chemist wanted for illegal drug production in our own time; it would be simple for her to produce RWCD. While not considered as brilliant as Dr. Sahmbi, she was regarded well in her field before her arrest and conviction. My Captain and I had encountered her before, but failed to capture her. Therefore, we were determined to find her and return her to our own time.

My Captain had taken on the identity of Darien Hodge, a supposed private investigator. My Captain was aware of the requirements for Private Investigators in this time and place; therefore he was careful not to actually perform any of the duties as a person of that profession, other than to trace Dr. Wildski.

However, in attempting to trace the doctor, we ran across a rather… unusual… situation.

* * *

Trip walked through the neighborhood, which was not in one of the better parts of Silver Hills. He hoped his bicycle was all right, though as it probably could use a fresh coat of paint, maybe it would still be there. The business owner had been so grateful that he could fix the man’s computer for cheap.

As he walked by a woman, he could see a greyish-bluish patch of skin just behind the ear. He frowned; he’d seen more than a few people that were like that. Her movements seemed slightly jerkish to him and he was tempted to bring out his scanning glasses for more information, but he didn’t dare. He wondered what kind of drug it was that was causing it; unfortunately, his outfit and hair screamed ‘geek’ so it wasn’t like people approached him much, except for maybe some change. Which he gave a little bit if he had it, but he rarely did.

He was tempted to go find out the source, but he knew that he had no legal authority in this era and he wasn’t sure Jen would approve. He’d have to talk to her about it. But first he’d go home and see if he could find any illegal drugs in this era that would match the visible symptoms.

“Hey, Kid.”

Trip looked up, startled. Did the man want change? He hoped not. He didn’t have any to spare today.

“You look like you could use a pickup in your life. More energy.”

Trip smiled. It figured that he would get something like this. Geek or no, somebody was obviously desperate.

“I know someone who could pep you right up,” the man continued. “Want to come with me?”

“What kind of… pep up?” Trip asked. It could be anything from illegal drug sales to illegal sex sales to… maybe even legitimate things, but Trip couldn’t imagine what they would be.

“Some stuff that’ll bring you up to speed. Something that’ll give you the energy of a rhino.”

Drug sale. “I… I….”

“I’ve seen you around,” the guy said. “You do odd jobs for the businesses around here.”

Trip nodded.

“You could do more. Earn more money.”

“I’m happy as I am,” Trip said. “But… thank you.”

The man shrugged, his moves slightly jerky. The aftermath of a drug habit? Trip could see the telltale skin, once the man turned. “Hey, if you change your mind… I’ll be around.”

He walked off, and Trip moved on, only to be stopped by one of the local business owners, Mrs. Lopez, who owned a panaderia. “Trip! It’s good to see you. Would you like some bread?” She was smiling, but Trip could see the strain in her eyes.

“Yes, please.” Mrs. Lopez made good bread, and he didn’t mind parting with some money.

Trip followed her inside, and Mrs. Lopez slipped behind the counter, bringing out some of her fresh-baked bread. He was the only customer at the moment, he noted. “Stay away from him,” she said quietly as she sliced him a piece. “He’s bad news.”

“I know.” Trip reached into his pocket. Things would be slim… but a little bit of Mrs. Lopez’s bread would make a nice addition to the stew that night.

“No, I can afford one slice of bread for you,” Mrs. Lopez said, waving the money away. “I like you. You do a lot of good here.”

Trip smiled. “I like this place,” he said. None of the others – well, maybe Katie – fit in here. But he did. He liked the humans here. And despite everything, a lot of them were really nice.

Mrs. Lopez smiled back. “I like you,” she said. “Don’t talk to the wrong people. And eat.” She motioned at the bread.

“I will. I promise.” He looked at the bread. “This will help make lunch.”

The owner gave him a pitying look. “Oh, you poor boy. Go, go. I’m sure you have other work to do.”

And he did, so he went.

* * *

My Captain and I watched the interchange between the dealer we had been tracking and the green-haired youth with interest. The green-haired youth was clearly not interested in the deal; in fact, despite his demeanour, I believe him to have observed the side effects of the drug in the neighborhood and been frightened for his well being. In this, my Captain concurred.

After the youth entered a local bakery to meet with the owner, our target made his departure, perhaps sensing that the local market was no longer viable. My Captain and I followed him in hopes of finding the dealer above him and perhaps tracing the venture to our target. We were sure it was Dr. Wildski, but as she was “keeping her head down”, as my Captain put it, we could not trace her directly.

My Captain and I hoped to also get a sample of the drug in question, to confirm that it was the drug we were looking for. While neither I nor my Captain had many doubts that it wasn’t, it was good to have evidence that it was so.

Unfortunately, the dealer chose that moment to depart in a vehicle. We could only record his license plate number, which I stored for later query with the Department of Motor Vehicles of this state. Their database is very primitive and it would be easy to make inquiries without notifying the department of any unauthorized access.

“SELMA, let’s keep looking,” my Captain said, and I silently agreed. Perhaps we could find and trace another dealer to their distribution point.

* * *

“Trip, what’s wrong?” Circuit asked. Trip was sitting at the viewscreen, entering data, thinking of the drug that he’d seen. Even though he couldn’t do anything about it, not having any authority in the tweny-first century, he wanted to know more about it.

“I… just want to find out about this drug I’ve seen.” He entered the symptoms into the Time Force medical database, and waited for it to transmit and the results to be returned back to him. He went through each record slowly, discarding each one as it didn’t fit.

The closest that fit was a drug commonly named Rhino, but there was little information on it, other than it was known in the twenty-second century, which meant that it shouldn’t be appearing in the twenty-first century. At least, that’s what he hoped. The query to Medical for more information just resulted in the fact that any records of it had been lost in the centuries between the twenty-second and thirty-first centuries.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he said out loud. “How can a drug from the twenty-second century be appearing in the twenty-first? Unless it appeared here, first.” It could have appeared in the twenty-first century and the data had been lost and rediscovered. But something about that bothered him.

He’d have to head back to the neighborhood and ask more questions. He’d have to be cautious, but if he did it discretely, maybe he could find out more about the drug and who was making it.

Trip cautiously returned to the neighborhood, on the pretense of getting more bread from Mrs. Lopez. He wanted to see if he could see more of the addicts, or maybe talk to them. Drug addicts were rare in his time, but they still happened; it was human (or otherwise) nature. Detox programs still happened. Even with humans. Especially with humans.

So he walked through the neighborhood, looking for the people with the taletell skin. Watched their movements, tried to figure things out. Got a close look passing one that seemed particularly out of it, putting his scanning glasses on to get a better idea. Circuit was fluttering around the rooftops, looking to make sure Trip wasn’t heading into trouble.

Trip retracted the glasses and headed into Mrs. Lopez’s bakery. “Oh, Trip,” she said. “I’m glad to see that you’re well.”

He smiled at her. “I came to buy more of your delicious bread,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re staying well, Trip,” she said. “The dealer did not come to this neighborhood today, but I have heard rumors that there may be more coming in. Our neighborhood is a good place for them.”

“I know,” he acknowledged.

“Already there are girls that make garments who spend their money on the drugs in order to make more things so that they may be paid more,” Mrs. Lopez mourned. “They cannot find better work because they cannot be here legally; and there is little help that they’ll accept because they are not legal. The government comes and shuts down the factories sometimes because they’re unsafe, but it doesn’t stop the owners.”

Trip nodded. “It’s not good around here,” he said. But a perfect place for him to observe.

“I hope it is safer for you, where you live,” Mrs. Lopez said, getting him his bread. “Same as yesterday, Trip?”

He nodded. “And if you need me to fix things, please call us,” he said, as she packaged some bread for him.

“I will, Trip, you’re a good boy and so good at machines!” she smiled, as he handed over the money. She knew how much he could spend; he appreciated that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lopez,” Trip said, taking the bread and leaving the store. He went back to where he’d parked his bike, in a safer area, and went to where he could retrieve Circuit.

“Nobody followed us, but there was someone watching you,” Circuit reported, as soon as they could get to a safe place in the park. “A Caucasian male.” Circuit projected a view of the picture he’d taken.

“I saw him,” Trip acknowledged. “Before Mrs. Lopez called me in.”

“He might be an undercover police officer,” Circuit said. “Or someone who the drug dealer works for. Be careful, Trip.”

Trip nodded. “I got some data from when I was walking around,” he said. “When we get back, let’s see what I find.” He put Circuit in his backpack and wheeled back to the Clock Tower.

* * *

My Captain and I had kept an eye on the green-haired young man, and I had very cautiously scanned him. The readings I found were surprising, but our main mission had to be finding the source of the drug; therefore, my own calculations and speculations were my own. The young man was not human, but that was irrelevant for the moment. I resolved to share this data with my Captain when we were at our current abode; he could decide if this was something that needed to be acted upon after we traced the source of the drugs.

After the young man had entered the panaderia, we kept our watch out for the dealer; we were not disappointed. We were able to eventually trace his path to his superior. Unfortunately, we were unable to trace it further, but with help of some technology, we hoped to continue the trail further.

“SELMA, any trace on likely production facilities?” my Captain asked.

I had been working on his request before he requested it, and projected a set of images. “The most likely facilities are in these locations,” I said.

My Captain considered that. We would have to stake out each facility if we did not gather more information about the matter; our only hope would be to gather further information if we did not wish to do so. However, given the success we had so far, there was a possibility that we could avoid visiting each facility.

“Anything else unusual, SELMA?” my Captain asked.

I processed that for a second. “The young man that we’ve been watching as a typical possible victim has an unusual biology, Captain.”

“Unusual biology, SELMA?” my Captain asked, his brows furrowing in thought.

“Indeed, Captain. His biology is not typical of humans, nor any other species I am familiar with.”

My Captain nodded. “Did he seem like he needed assistance, SELMA?” He was obviously thinking, as I was, that if the boy not in distress we could assist him after we solved the mystery of the Rhino distribution.

“He seemed concerned about something, and it is possible that the Rhino would react negatively with his physiology given his reaction,” I said. “However, it is impossible to determine.”

“Keep an eye on him, and we’ll just have to try to shut down the Rhino operation.”

“I agree, Captain,” I said. We continued to concentrate on our fugitive.

* * *

“I really don’t have any specific information on drug operations in the twenty-first century,” Circuit told Trip. “I’ve tapped into local law enforcement databases, but I’m not seeing anything other than possession of narcotics! I’m afraid that you don’t have much to go on.”

“I hope it’s not a mutant,” Trip said.

“There are no drug-creating mutants currently in the prison that we know of,” Circuit said, shaking his head.

“Which means no basis for investigation,” Trip acknowledged. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it, but still…. “But it shouldn’t be in this time period.”

“Which means that it could be Ransik,” Jen said, walking to the table. “Or somebody else.”

“Time travel didn’t exist until the thirtieth century, right, Circuit?” Trip said, turning towards his friend.

“Well, there have been attempts at time travel in the past,” Circuit said, after working through his databases for a minute or two. “But they were all failures!”

“So, nobody was able to travel in time before the thirtieth century?” Jen asked.

“The nearest to successful was the TRAX project, in the twenty-second century,” Circuit said. “But there’s not much data about it. Most of its records were lost in the great disasters of the twenty-third century! But it was considered to be a failure.”

“That does match up with when the drug was made, though,” Trip said. “Maybe during the tests, some of it was sent through time?”

Jen’s lips were pursed. “If so, it’s not part of our mission.”

Trip nodded. It really wasn’t. As much as it pained him… there were police in this century, and he wasn’t one. In his native time, yes, but not not here. He didn’t have any authority here.

“Trip. You and Circuit do some reconnaissance, report back to me. If it’s one of our mutants, I want to know about it.”

Trip nodded. “Circuit?”

“Ready to go!” Circuit said, flapping his wings.

The two of them started researching, looking at reports of where Rhino users had been arrested, and also where the dealers had been caught. Whoever was doing this was smart, but didn’t have the advantage of a computer connection to the thirty-first century. Still, Trip thought he had a good lead on where they might find where the drug was being made… and if it was a mutant, they’d probably show themselves. If not, Jen was right. It wasn’t their responsibility.

He gathered Circuit up and they went to observe one of the warehouses.

* * *

My Captain and I had chosen the most likely warehouse to stake out. The two of us were aware that this was not our final destination; but we suspected that it would lead us to the mastermind behind these operations. If so, she would be particularly hard to capture, but my Captain and I would do it if possible.

“SELMA, do you see who I think I see?” my Captain asked, angling his head at another warehouse nearby.

“If you mean the green-haired alien youth,” I said, angling the head of my projection that way, “then I would agree that we are seeing the same thing.”

“I wonder what he’s doing here,” my Captain said. “Is he working with them?”

“His stance would indicate that he is surveiling the place as we are,” I said. “It is not impossible, Captain, that the operation has drawn the attention of somebody other than ourselves. Perhaps he has integrated into this place and become almost… native.”

“Right,” my Captain said. He kept watch over the warehouse. I kept my attention on things that would compromise his security, and attempted to assist him in finding the source of the drugs.

Finally, the two of us were able to spot a truck preparing to depart for what was likely the laboratory; as we prepared to follow, we noticed the green-haired alien skittering forward and tossing something on under the vehicle. Some kind of tracking device, no doubt.

But my Captain and I could spare no future thoughts of the alien for the moment; we had a truck to pursue.

* * *

Trip hurried back to the Clock Tower to track the vehicle, the truck, that he’d put his homing beacon under. It was a little primitive, being assembled in the twenty-first century with twenty-first century electronics, but Trip was certain that he could use it to trace the truck to where the drug was being made. If it was a mutant, he’d deal with it; if not, he would find out what was going on, so that he could report to Jen.

He bicycled back to the tower impatiently, and when he and Circuit got back, he reviewed the data. The tracker was working splendidly. He knew that it wasn’t perfect, but it was doing what it was supposed to do.

“So, it’s likely here,” he said, pointing at the viewscreen. Circuit looked at him. “I think so, Trip. But what should we do?”

“Stake it out, of course,” Trip said. “If it’s truly a mutant and not something else, it might emerge.”

And it might not, of course. He hoped it would, because it certainly wasn’t making any attacks. Trip had to wonder if the maker had just discovered the drug a bit early, if it had been accidentally transported in some experiment or something, or if it was just something else going on that didn’t involve their mission.

* * *

“SELMA, are you certain that this is the place?” my Captain asked.

“It is the place that the truck came to,” I said, looking at a perfectly normal, three story building. No name on the outside, though my records noted that at this point in time, this building belonged to the “Enotics Corporation”, registered in the state of Nevada with a “Turlock Brown” as the Chief Executive Officer. I did not have any such person with such a name in my database of fugitives, nor did the picture pulled from the database of the California Department of Motor Vehicles yield any image similar to anybody in there.

“There is a picture of Dr. Wildski on the site’s web pages,” I said. “It seems that this is a company that creates biochemicals, though Rhino is certainly not on the list of those products.”

At least it was Friday afternoon, a time where humans were most likely to want to be heading home to their families for the weekend. If we could find Dr. Wildski alone, that would possibly collapse the drug operation. My Captain had called the police of this time on illegal operations after retrieving the fugitive in charge before.

“We’ll have to get in so you can access the system,” my Captain said, thinking. “But how?”

“I do not know,” I said. “It is possible that I can access the system from our home, as well as the guard schedules. Those would be most helpful.”

“I agree, SELMA,” my Captain said. We departed the site.

* * *

“So, this ‘Enotics’ company is where we should be going,” Trip said. He was dressed in his work gear, just in case he had to go over there at the moment. “Anything interesting, Circuit?”

“It’s a biochemicals company,” Circuit said, “But I’ve looked through their data and I can’t find anything that has to do with production of that drug! Here’s the guard schedules, though.”

Trip scanned through the guard schedules and hoped that he could convince the guards to let him in. He looked again. Maybe if he applied for a job as a warehouse worker… maybe not. He couldn’t think of any other way to get in, though. He maybe could convince someone he was there illegally. In some ways, he was there illegally, so it really didn’t matter. He knew from Wes that Wes was going to have problems with something called the EDD and something called the IRS about their income. Those letters made no sense to him, but he trusted Wes to know what was going on.

“They are looking for warehouse people,” Circuit said. “You could try that way! But the hiring office isn’t open until Monday.”

“Hey, whatever works,” Trip said. “I might go out there once or twice more. If I’m considering working there and tell the security guards that if they ask, maybe it won’t seem so suspicious.”

“I hope so,” Circuit said. “And maybe if it is a mutant…..”

“He’ll come out and want to fight,” Trip said. “Or she will.”

Never assume the mutant was male, after all.

* * *

After examining the guard schedules and other things, my Captain and I agreed that we should go on Monday, when there were to be interviews for warehouse workers and where my Captain and I would be less conspicuous. So, after doing some examinations of guard schedules, the layout of the facility, and the likelyhood of seeing Dr. Wildski, we finally made our move on Monday.

The young green-haired man was walking in the door, obviously intent filling out an application for warehouse work. I had to wonder if he was working for another organization, or if our paths had crossed by sheer coincidence. In any case, my Captain and I were soon on the premises, soon charming our way inside the warehouse and inside the facility for a look. My scans did not immediately provide us with a route or the presence of Dr. Wildski; but after a small amount of time, a person with the heartbeat and other life signs of someone from our time period appeared nearby. We were able to hide nearby until Dr. Wildski appeared, though I was slightly distracted by the appearance of the green-haired young man. I revised my estimate of him; he was no mere job-seeker.

Dr. Wildski was conferring with a man in a jumpsuit, who soon walked away, out of hearing range. My Captain soon emerged. “Dr. Wildski.”

“Yes, who are you?” she asked absently. She brought her arms up; her record had not shown any signs of her learning a martial art; I wondered if she had learned it during her near-decade in this century. “You must be from….”

“I’m Captain Darien Lambert, Fugitive Retrieval Section,” my Captain said plainly, and it was clear that Dr. Wildski recognized the name. She had evaded my Captain for some time, after all.

“Fugitive Retrieval, after this time?” she laughed lightly. “It’s no use, Captain. I am shielded from any technology you might use to send me back to our time period; after all, I have too much invested here to leave.” She smiled. “You wouldn’t send back a woman with a family? Leave my daughter orphaned?”

* * *

Trip was watching the whole exchange with some fascination. The man was clearly a police officer, from a different time period. The two people – the woman that Captain Lambert had addressed as Dr. Wildski and himself – had slightly different heart rates than people from this time. It made sense.

Somehow, somewhere, there had been time travel. Maybe it had been the TRAX project – it only made sense. Maybe it had not been as much of a failure as their records had indicated.

In any case, the woman was not a mutant, but she was a criminal. And while he doubted Captain Lambert had legal authority in this time either, he was a fellow police officer. He should do something.

He just wasn’t sure what that should be. But if the woman’s boasts were true, then the woman needed to be sent back to her own time. And he would have to help.

Trip crossed his fingers. “Circuit, fly above her and distract her. I’m going to tackle her.” He was okay as a policeman. He should be all right.

“Okay, Trip!” Circuit pronounced. He flew up and around, distracting the woman from her gloating. Trip took that moment to tackle the woman, trying to look for any devices that she might be using to prevent Captain Lambert from sending her back.

* * *

My Captain would have said something to Dr. Wildski if he’d had a choice. Instead, Dr. Wildski – and I had to admit, myself and my Captain – were distracted by something that resembled a robotic owl. Then, out behind some equipment, the green-haired youth tackled Dr. Wildski, seemingly trying to root around her body. I had to wonder if he was looking for the equipment that she had mentioned that she had, or if he was trying for an all-out assault on her. He started tossing things about, including her necklace. Seemingly satisfied, he rolled away from her, enough distance that my Captain could get a clear shot.

And he did. “Transmission tones, Selma.”

I did so, and Dr. Wildski disappeared in a flash of light.

My Captain hurried over to the youth. “Are you all right?” he asked.

The green-haired youth smiled. “I’m all right,” he said. “Sorry, I had to do something – I’m a police officer elsewhere, and-”

The youth’s simple statement explained what he had been doing at the various locations. He, too, had been searching for our perpetrator. I wondered if my Captain would offer to assist him – not that we knew where he was from.

“Let’s get out of here,” my Captain said. “I’ll treat you to whatever you can eat.”

The youth’s eyes lit up.

* * *

Trip had been happy to be fed at a local park – Captain Lambert had bought both of them hot dogs as a treat – in fact, at Trip’s request, three hot dogs. The man had seemed amused at the amount that Trip tended to eat.

“So, where’s home?” Captain Lambert asked. “I know you’re not human.”

Trip smiled. “Far away from here.” He didn’t feel the need to tell Captain Lambert that he was also from a thousand years in the future. “I overheard – what time are you from?”

“I can’t tell you… but decades in the future,” Captain Lambert said. He seemed as evasive as Trip, and Trip thought briefly of reading his mind. He really wanted to know about Captain Lambert’s time, but it was as likely that Captain Lambert was going to tell him as he was going to tell Captain Lambert. “That flying robot – yours?”

Trip nodded. “I built him. On Earth. I’ve been here a long time.” Just not in this time. But the other police officer didn’t need to know that. “It’s home now. And Selma?”

Captain Lambert nodded. “She’s a friend,” he said. “Who helps me.”

“Circuit – the robot – is my friend too,” Trip said. “The closest friend I have.”

“I think sometimes that Selma is my best friend too,” Captain Lambert said. “I’m pleased to meet you, Trip.”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain Lambert,” Trip said. “Maybe we’ll meet again, sometime.”

The two of them eventually parted, and Trip returned to the Clock Tower.

“Well, it wasn’t a mutant, then,” he said to Jen. “It was another time traveller.”

“Probably from the twenty-second century,” Circuit added. “I’ve been pulling everything from archives that I can about the TRAX project, Trip! It confirms everything we saw.”

“Oh?” Jen asked.

“Yes! Certain police captains were assigned personal computers named SELMAs, which were supposed to be able to project holograms and interact with computers and their human partners! It was mentioned in what’s left of the remants of the police records that there was a Captain assigned to the project with a SELMA, but they didn’t mention who!”

“Captain Lambert,” Trip said. “But at least it’s over with. And it’s not our problem anymore.”

“It never was,” Jen said. He knew, as she did, that they couldn’t handle everything – but sometimes they didn’t have to. There were police, official and unofficial, who could do those jobs. And they’d do theirs.

-end


End file.
